This story is dedicated to the memory of J.R.R. Tolkien, master of fantasy and fiction and founder of the wonderful countries of Middle Earth and the strange beings wandering there. The creator of probably the best fantasy story ever written: "The Lord of the Rings"...

Darkness was already spreading across the country when Eriol raised his eyes upon a small inn, still at a couple of minutes' walk distance from him. He sighed deeply, for he he had travelled long and his feet were aching - and so was his stomach as he had been eating rather little lately. Behind the small windows of that shelter for the night he saw the flickering of candles and a strange feeling tainted his heart as he slowly came near. He closely examined the fair surroundings of this place; he saw the high elms and oaks on the hill to the west, and witnessed the sun laying itself to rest behind these immense trees - until dawn, when it would rise in all its pride again. Coloured orange and red as the sun set, the exterior gave him the impression of a faerytale. Again, he sighed deeply, and went down to the front door.

He read the sign hanging outside the doorpost. "Cottage of Lost Play" he spoke aloud. Where had he learned that before? He was about to knock on the heavy wooden door, garmented with skillfully manufactured metal ornaments, when the door opened and the face appeared of an old man - probably the inn-keeper. He looked old (though not as old as Eriol himself) and his hair was correspondingly grey, but his eyes seemed to glow with youth. Eriol looked over the man's shoulder and saw various folk sitting around a cosy fire, laughing and chatting merrily. The old man said nothing, smiled with his eyes, and made way for Eriol to enter the candle-lit room. When the old man closed the door, it seemed like all fatigue dropped off Eriol (he who was amongst his kindred called the Tale-teller of Old). It was like he felt this to be one of the kindest places he had ever been - most rightly so. He looked around and carefully noted everything in the room. The bar seemed to be made of the same material as the sturdily built door, probably very old and inherited from times and places before modern man's history. The people present spoke in different tongues, yet they all seemed to be able to understand one another perfectly. Some small tables were present on the eastern wall, under a window where he saw the two moons of Mandos rising as well as some stars glittering.

"Sit down, please," said the old man, "I am Orom, keeper of the 'Cottage if Lost Play' inn." His eyes now not only seemed to glow with youth, but with friendlyness also. Orom offered Eriol a cup of heavenly scenting juice, which the Tale-teller of Old did not refuse as his throat was very dry indeed. Apart from some dizzyness after drinking this fluid, Eriol suddenly noticed that he could now understand what the other folk was talking about. After having seen the look of surprise on Eriol's features, the inn-keeper called for a silence and everybody looked at him, instantly keeping silent. "This, my dear folk," pronounced Orom, "is Eriol, the Last Tale-teller of Old. Finally, fate has brought him here, together with some good luck!" He added the last part of his sentence with a bit of a blasphemous smile while glancing to the ceiling. Eriol wasn't concerned with the fact that the old man seemed to know him, and was soon talking intensely with the gathered people, who all turned out to be Tale-tellers themselves, gathered from all directions - the dark countries of the Swamps of Threat, the bright lands where the Empress of Everything ruled, hunters from the Plains of Mysticism and folk from the ancient tribe now living on the Forgotten Isles over the Great Waters. They had all been directed miraculously to Orom's inn. Nobody knew anything about Eriol's past, or from the past of anyone else present for that matter - except for the past of themselves and maybe the inn-keeper, Orom the old man. "Let him who came in the latest be the first to speak forth his Tales!" so cried Orom, who had now lit a pipe and had made himself comfortable in a lowering of the floor near the hearth. The others quietly sat down near Orom, waiting for Eriol to start his tale. And it went thus:

"Many years ago, when the planet was still fair and no Swamps of Threat nor any other dark countries existed (while saying this, he carefully observed one of the aforementioned Tale-tellers, who just sat and kept listening), mankind lived happy and prosperous. There were no wars to be fought and no battles to be won, and 'tis now known that people then were foolish enough not to bear in mind that but a small interference in the balances of power would cause global warfare. However, nobody had expected that this interference would come from planets formerly unknown, even from creatures not earlier seen by man's eyes..."

He glanced around the illustrious group of men listening to him while occasionally sipping their drinks, that now looked at him with incredulity in their deep eyes. Never before had they heard of life amongst the stars other than theirs. Normally, Eriol would not have been listened to any further, as there was one unspoken rule between the Tale-tellers of old: True stories only. But somehow, because of reasons seemingly not known to any of them, they kept listening. Eriol's presence and voice seemed to fill everybody's minds with a sense of truth. Only Orom seemed to know why, as he smiled self-sufficiently while inhaling deeply. "It was spring, and the trees were full of boughs ready to show their newly created leaves to the bright light of the sun, the birds sang songs of love and mother nature nursed the newly born with care and warmth. The whole planet was a paradise for the harmless, the innocent, the unknowing, even the powerless. There was no exorbitant richness nor poverty, nor did any of the bad virtues of mankind prevail. Every day, the sun would rise and set and yet another day of joy and merriment would have passed. Every morning there would be shady layers of soft mist and honeydew over the meadows and heather.

Alas! This joy was not to be for long, as a dark shape obscured the sun on one of those merry days, frightening the people and animals dwelling there. As no harm was forethought by this peaceful people, it was no problem for these extraterrestrials to enslave them all, slaughter their cattle and turn the once fair country in a desolate plain where only rough grass would further grow. Dark clouds gathered above the lands, clouds that would grow more immense every day: Dark clouds that mankind had not seen since the Ancient Wars of Old! It was merely a few days after the brutal and unprovoked act of alien agression that the Federation Council heard of it. It was they who sent Drak, the last of the Obliterators, to fight the battle nobody had wanted and to claim the victory nobody had sought. Drak was the sole survivor of an elite team of warriors that had fought many a battle - and survived! Drak carried the hopes of all the population with him as he entered the hostile territory, now known as the Lands of Enslavement..."

Eriol now took a draught of his beer, and went on: "Drak met no resistance. He was disgusted by the foul creatures now living there and didn't even dare to prey upon them in fear of being poisoned, but there were no apparent invaders in the dark lands anymore. Nor were there people, for that matter. Drak felt an evil presence, however, and he felt worse than he had ever felt before while fighting for whoever paid the most - like he had so often done. The black mists around him seemed to grow heavier and heavier as he penetrated deep into the Lands of Enslavement. After many an hour of walking, he noticed light just before him. As he came closer, he clearly realised that what he saw was a tall tree with fresh green leaves, bathing in light of the sun that shone high above. It was like metal chains falling off his heart when he saw this sight of beauty in the middle of darkness. But he had not yet fully entered the circle of light when he felt a queer sensation running through his veins. He felt giddy for a moment, and next thing he knew he was in a surrounding completely different from all he had ever seen before. It was more frightening than the submarine empire of the Sorcerer of Death, technically more highstanding that the dungeons of Zerostein the Professor of Retrogation and it felt more evil than the very depths of Hell! By a means not known to Drak or to mankind, his molecular structure had been moved from the earth's surface to the heart of the Alien battleship. It was as if sorcery and wizardry prevailed here, and Drak felt uncomfortable right into his bones..." Eriol again looked around the men that sat listening in silence, their eyes filled with wonder as he emptied his mug. There was a deafening silence in the room. The fire had gone out and the coals were only glowing now. The faces of the men looked grim with the dark red glow on their faces, some covered with heavy beards.

The hunter from the Plains of Mysticism, known as Valor the Impetuous One amongst his kin, was the first to break the silence. "What did happen? Was it the God's will for Drak to survive? Please do tell more!" While saying this, he filled Eriol's mug to its rim. A look of sadness settled itself on Eriol's face. "The rest of the story is too sad to tell. If have not come here to tell tales that will make your hearts feel weary. I would rather tell faeries of happyness but alas! I know none." After having said that, Eriol raised himself and put down the mug. For a moment, it looked as if he was going to reveal the end of his tale after all, but he merely sighed from deep within his torso, turned around and left the 'Cottage of Lost Play' inn.

The man from the Swamps of Darkness cleared his throat and, to Orom, said: "Who is this man? Who is Eriol, Tale-teller of Old?" Orom kept silent for a while. "Eriol," he added, "is the only descendant of the last of the Obliterators. Drak's son." The men fell silent.

Under the light of the two moons of Mandos, both equally pale, Eriol walked, sad and lonely. On his way to the next inn to tell his Tale of old, the tale of the destruction of his home planet...earth.

*****

Accompanied by a superb piece of Roger Dean artwork (a poster, as usual), the latest Psygnosis release "Obliterator" has immediate tendencies to fight its way high into the software polls. Again supplied in the familiar package with manual, the mentioned poster and two disks, the presentation can again be called excellent. Just as it should be, to my opinion.

And what about the game itself?

We're spoilt to death by all previous Psygnosis releases, so it's harder by the day to impress the lot of us. In spite of this stigma, Garvan Corbett has again succeeded in equalling (and maybe even exceeding) earlier standards, whereas Psygnosis finally seem to have discovered the concept of game music as well: David Whittaker was arranged to do the title and game music and he has done an outstanding job indeed! In "Obliterator", the player becomes Drak - the last of the Obliterators. The earth is under threat from outer space and the player enters the game just while Drak's molecular structure is being re-assembled aboard the huge and threatening alien battleship. In this battleship, comprising over 100 screens of varying graphics in three dimensions, Drak must not only disable the battleship's Plasma drive engines and the main weapons system, but he must also recover computer datapacks and the information contained therein (sorry for the Tolkien-ish here and there). Needless to add, the battleship is crowded with loonies and other vermin that try to make sure that Drak does not succeed in accomplishing his mission.

Graphics and music are, as I already stated, up to high standards. The animation is quite good though not as smooth as might be achievable on the ST. Scrolling is quite good and the sound effects are very impressive. Garvan again seems to have come up with a brilliant set of colours - something which is extremely important but which many graphic artists underestimate. Game control can be done by either mouse, keyboard or joystick - though the latter is not recommended. I used to play "Barbarian" with the mouse, so I started playing "Obliterator" with the mouse as well. Although I agree there is probably no better way to control a game with similar complexity, I still think the current mouse control is not perfect at all. Alltogether, "Obliterator" is even better than "Barbarian", to which it has great resemblance. The one big disadvantage of this new Psygnosis product is that the intro is again quite lousy in comparison with the Amiga version: On the ST, a man appears that tells you to insert disk B. OK, the graphics are superb, but on the Amiga the man starts shooting at you with stunning sounds and animation on top of that. Mr. Lawson, this is also possible on the ST! Why don't you DO it?

I'd like to extend my gratitude to Mr. Jonathan Ellis and his charming assistant Pamela at Psygnosis for sending the review sample.